Through Tombstone Eyes
by Woodwings
Summary: A look through the eyes of one of the Pokemon World's more cynical denizens, starting at age five.


Through Tombstone Eyes

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, and I am not making any money from this fanfiction.

Note, perched stiffly on his chair at the dinner table with his pastel blue hair neatly brushed, seemed to be living the life of a marionette. It was his fifth birthday, but there was a distinct lack of festivity in the air. He, his parents, and a few children that his mother approved of, were sat around the table, in sensible clothes. His mother had laid out an array of dishes that she had read about in cultured cuisine magazines, which were nice enough, though not quite standard birthday fare.

His cake dominated the centre of the table, and his guests' attention. It was splendid, multi-tiered, and expensive-looking, but it lacked one vital quality. It wasn't really for him at all, it was a statement. 'Look at my amazing confectionery!' It cried, 'Look at how perfect it is!' Mrs Lacessit was, if truth be told, rather obsessed with the concept of perfection. She really did care deeply for her son, but she was determined that his life should be absolutely _perfect_. This, of course, meant that she took every opportunity to steer him in what she saw as the 'right' direction.

Dull, stone-grey eyes passively taking in the scene around him, Note wondered vaguely what the remaining parcels concealed. His mother had seen to it that he had plenty of gifts, though most of them contained clothes of some sort, or detailed pictures of cultural landmarks to hang in his bedroom. Perhaps, for a change, he would receive something interesting. Whilst traditional, vacant-eyed teddies were all very well, what he really wanted was something that would captivate his imagination.

As soon as manners would allow, seeing as Mrs Lacessit was very big on manners, he began to unwrap his last few presents. His efforts unveiled a tin of gingerbread shapes, a slightly bemused-looking stuffed Chimchar, and something that Note recognised from some of the ornaments in his mother's cabinet. It was spherical, shiny and cold to the touch, fitting into his palm as though it had always been there. Did this mean that his father, from whom this curious object had been sourced, deemed him responsible enough to have an ornament of his own, or would this also rest behind glass doors?

Closer inspection sent a creeping realisation through the boy's nerves, giving him a startled thrill. This, it became apparent, was no mere artwork. The gleaming, polished surface of the Pokéball dominated his awed attention, driving away such trifling matters as the rest of the world. With nervous anticipation sending peculiar sensations whirling through his belly, he pressed the little button.

With the air of one who has released a genie from its bottle, Note speechlessly gaped at the green arachnid that had materialised on top of him. His mother was also lost for words, but for rather different reasons. What could _possibly_ have been going through Pierre's mind to give their son a live animal? A _spider_ as well, for that matter! Of course, now that Note had opened it, there was little she could do to discourage him from keeping it. She would have to talk to Pierre about this later.

The youthful guests, who had only really come for the cake, were instantly enlivened when they beheld Note's new Spinarak, and they began to fuss over the Pokémon, and giggling at its smiling posterior. Note didn't particularly care that he was not the centre of attention, as the opinions of his guests, and indeed their presence, meant little to him. All that mattered now was the gloriously verdant creature that had shaken up his stuffy existence. For his part, the Spinarak seemed content to be fussed over. In fact, he barely seemed to notice the sticky hands pawing at his light covering of fuzz.

Pierre grinned, delighted at the expression spread across his offspring's features. It wasn't often that he could sneak something past his beloved's watchful gaze, but he would sooner be a canine's rubber chew-toy than let Note's life be devoid of the spice that was excitement. No doubt he would get an earful after the boy had gone to bed, but it was worth it in so many ways. Little boys, he felt, should get messy, climb trees, and above all, laugh. If his accounting job in Jubilife didn't take up quite so much of his time, Pierre would take Note out to the Safari Zone, but whenever he had time to spare, Marjorie had already planned their outings and occasions down to the last detail.


End file.
